Here is an extremely brief word for you, merely to say that we are safe at Erskine's according to anticipation; and that all
is quite right with us, so far as it usually is;—and, in short, that if your usual motherly anxieties, dear good Mother, are
like to get into action, you are fairly entitled and enjoined to forbid them!— I wrote to John, the other day, from Leslie; I sent you a Newspaper, which I think would come to hand yesterday; I
also wrote a word to Jean, and sent a Newspaper to Mary: nobody has sent me anything in return; but I will try to believe
that all is well.

We got here yesterday about 2 o'clock; a prosperous ride by rail of a couple of hours; the good Erskine, with Farie &c (ask
Jack about Farie) stood waiting on this side of the Ferry for us; and all kinds of welcome awaited us here. It is, in several
respects, a favourable change from Kirkcaldy: some people of sense and seriousness are here; and, for one other great point, I have got the quietest big bedroom any man could desire! Poor Jane, I am sorry to know, did not make much sleep out last night; and having wanted,
the night before too, is not in a very first-rate condition today: however, she bears up steadily: is ready for an expedition
to “Glammis Castle,”1 whither they are all bent today, a drive of 12 miles; which I hope will do her a little good, in the fine weather.

The carriage is at the door: bad luck to the hurry! I must end instantly and run, for I have still new breeches to put on!—

Jane will probably be with you next week I think,—towards the end. But she will write. Adieu dear Mother; love to every one. Ever your affectionate